They are Ukrainian teenagers who survived the Russian occupation. Some went to the Ukraine-controlled territories or abroad, some lived under the occupation until liberation. That is why they can tell about their experience. Those who remain under occupation cannot tell their stories yet because it is literally a matter of survival and safety.

According to the NGO Centre of Civil Education “Almenda”, there are currently more than 615,000 school-age children in the temporarily occupied territories. They live in difficult and dangerous conditions. The occupying authorities draft Ukrainian boys to the Russian army, send teenagers to “military-patriotic camps” for “re-education”, and send children for adoption to Russian families.

Human rights activists report that teenagers and children are captured, intimidated, tortured, and killed in the occupied territories.

We have collected the stories of  teenagers about life under occupation and after it — stories about fears, losses, hope, and the desire to just have a normal life.

“I want to shout to them, “Hello. I am also here!”

Inna, 16 years old, Enerhodar, — Norway

Inna (the name has been changed) lived for a year in the occupied Enerhodar, near the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant. She lived without her friends, because they had left, without school, because it had been closed, without special plans and dreams. Inna speaks quietly and ponders each word. She tells how difficult it is for teenagers to understand the realities of the war and occupation. And how difficult it is to live in a foreign country, even if it is safe. There is a feeling you are a stranger everywhere. It is difficult to look for your place and not find it. It is difficult to lose your home and not to find a new one. “I put all these existential questions aside,” says Inna. “Now I just live day by day.”

Inna’s story:

— I remember how I woke up on February 24 and read on social media that the war had begun. However, I did not pay much attention to it. I went to school, and there my classmate was crying, “My grandmother is being bombed near Kharkiv”. We were allowed to go home. I go in for swimming, so I started to get things ready for the training, but we were told that there would be no training. I was upset — my problems were so funny then. In a few days, I realized that there were much worse problems, for example, where to get food. My mother and I used to stand in the queue at the shops at five in the morning. We were standing in queues for hours to get bread or flour and my feet were freezing. It was the coldest winter in my life.

On March 3, 2022, the Russians entered Enerhodar. The whole city went to stop them then; my parents also went. Tens of thousands of Enerhodar residents were standing as a wall in front of hundred Russian military vehicles. It lasted for five hours, and then the Russians dispersed the people. My dad worked at the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant; he said that the plant was the goal of the Russians. They went there immediately.

We lived near the waterfront and the Russian artillery was stationed right next to the house. The city of Nikopol is opposite Enerhodar [across the river]. Every night I heard the cannonade; I heard how the Russians were killing people.

“When the Russians entered Enerhodar, the whole city went to stop them then; my parents also went. Tens of thousands of Enerhodar residents were standing as a wall in front of hundred Russian military vehicles”.

All my friends left. I became asocial, was living like in a chamber. What was not the norm became the norm, the psyche adapted. I used to wake up at five in the morning, did my homework if there was electricity supply, went to the training, and then put on my headphones and went for a walk. I do not know why I did not feel fear then. Armed people were walking around. I saw people being taken to the “pit” just from the street. I knew that I had to be careful what to say and to whom. Because walls have ears. I am now in Norway, thousands of kilometers away from my hometown, and I am still afraid to talk about it.

My parents decided to leave in July 2023, when the searches of the apartments began. And when they [Russians] began to dismiss Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant employees who did not want to sign a contract with “Rosatom”. We stuffed our whole lives into a small sedan and drove eight thousand kilometers through Russia, Georgia, Turkey. We did not know where we were going until my parents decided that it would be Norway.

At the same time, the fog in my head began to clear. As if I had been protecting myself from all this information, and then I saw everything and understood: food, water, electricity — this is not enough for a safe life, not enough for a normal life. I started to have hysterical attacks and nervous breakdowns.

I am still adapting. Because the first months in a new country are romantic. Then the real life began, in which I realized that I was treated as a migrant. I ask myself difficult questions: who am I? What is my value? My self-esteem has dropped to the bottom.

I continue swimming classes in Norway. When I came to the club, the coach did not even introduce me to others. There is no such a habit there, but I got sad. Other teenagers communicate with each other, but not with me. I want to shout to them, “Hello. I am also here!”

When I am asked what I will be in 10 years, I answer that I do not know what will happen to me tonight. There has been no war in Norway for 200 years. No matter how much we tell them about the war and the occupation, they will not understand it. However, I do not want them to understand it. I just want to be noticed.

“My dad worked at the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant; he said that the plant was the goal of the Russians. They went there immediately”.